Author: ferylfiles

Christmas is over. New Year’s is almost here. It’s a great time (or maybe simply a traditional time) to reflect on the year past but more importantly on the year ahead. The high points of this year have been visits with friends and family whether traveling for adventures far away or their coming here. I didn’t create nearly as much art or jewelry as I had hoped. I did start a gym membership at the beginning of August that I’ve been consistent with–definitely a source of pride and fulfilment. I joined a dating site for a hot minute, found the process to be horrendous, and noped out fairly quickly. Ick. Projects around the house leaped forward in some areas (deck demo, river rock and black plastic removal, and red brick patio installation along with some much-needed plumbing updates inside); in other areas it has stagnated. The things that I’ve really enjoyed just for me are the walks at Mill Creek, returning to my love of cooking and baking especially, reading, writing, and listening to music.

My hope for 2025 involves more creation. This is where I find tremendous joy and personal fulfillment–I want to get messy with paint. I want beads scattered over my dining room table. I want to dive into developing characters I admire or hate and really work on making dialogue that’s believable and POPS. ;oP I want to fall in love with words again and again and again.

My hope for 2025 is that I tend to personal boundaries with more deliberation, like the person I see in the mirror (hopefully with specks of paint on my cheek), and choose to be content with my own company.

[If you’d like, you’re welcome to leave a tip in my virtual tip jar. 🙂 https://ferylfiles.com/2024/12/29/the-year-ahead/]

This is a phrase Bryan would often include in his texts and instant messages. I love this expression. It’s a core component of how we were together and of my being now. While I revere the people who sit with me in silent tears or who can rage against the evils of the world by my side, it’s the shared laughter that keeps me afloat. I tell dumb jokes, silly stories, anecdotes of my foibles, and I like off-color, off-kilter, poor-taste humor, too. (Sorry, mama.) If I can make anyone laugh over the course of the day, it hasn’t been a failure. Here’s a little story that hopefully will bring some laughter…

On the two-nap, two-bath solstice, I went to a party that was a sort of open-house. We live in a small town and the Venn diagram of friends and acquaintances that Mary and I share have a big overlapping section. She and her housemate were going to the same party, but we didn’t schedule our timing. As I headed to College Place with a box of crackers and a little charcuterie plate, I saw a tiny chihuahua-esque doggo crossing the road in the dark. I honked. I stomped on the break. The box fell to the floor. My brights were on and a car was approaching. My number one goal–DON’T KILL THE DOG! Meanwhile, I’m flashing my lights, turning them off and on in adrenaline-fueled attempt to dim them and warn of the dog. The approaching car flashed their lights back at me and I carried on in chagrin and grim determination to get to the party, dog unscathed, oncoming traffic unscathed, Becci unscathed, box of crackers only slightly dented.

When I arrived at my friends’ home, I learned that Mary and her housemate had just left. They were the poor recipients of my erratic driving behavior. I texted her right away and got to explain myself. THAT NEVER GETS TO HAPPEN. I called it a comedy of errors in one act. We had a good chuckle and a reminder that we often don’t know the full extent of the story. Bryan used to say if you don’t know all the details and you’re going to imagine a narrative, pick the one that makes you feel the best. I’ll add to that, maybe pick the one that makes you laugh the most.

[Thanks for joining me here. I appreciate the feedback and the connection. If you get something out of my writing and would care to, you’re welcome to leave a “tip” in my virtual tip jar here: https://venmo.com/u/Rebecca-Lubbers-1]

Recently, my kiddo has had some work done on her house–primarily a new range and hood install with some other elements to make the kitchen a better functioning, more beautiful space. I can’t wait to see it. The photos so far have been pretty great. The sound of excitement in her voice even more so. While she’s been walking me through the process, telling me of the different stages, she’s reminded me of safety measures that have to take place. The electricity in that section of the house has to be turned off while new lights and their respective boxes are installed, there has to be testing and sign-off on plumbing and whatnot, a shut-off valve installed, the whole she-bang. Of course these most tangible and essential components have me thinking in terms of metaphor, too.

Yesterday was a really hard day for me. Maybe others feel that same way around this time, the shortest day/longest night. The collision of grief and cheer–the dissonance and discomfort those can sometimes cause when in concert–can be exhausting. I got up and had my coffee and sat under my full-spectrum lamp. I went to the gym and cried while lifting weights. I do that sometimes. I try not to so others don’t feel uncomfortable and sometimes I can’t help it. I’m a tender nugget often under a barrage from a firehose of feelings and they sometimes come out of my eyes. Whadyagonnado? I came home and took a nap, curled up next to a purring, geriatric kitty. After a shower and some lunch, Mill Creek, even in the rain and fog and cold called. I came home and took a hot bath, then curled up with the kitty again for another nap afterward. Determined to go to a solstice party I’d been invited to, I got dressed and pushed myself out the door forcing myself to be a little social. When I got home it was time for a second bath. Some days are like that; yesterday was.

I wish I had an emotional shut-off valve. I really do. The onslaught is wearying. Nevertheless, I’m proud of myself for taking measures that would help and not succumbing to the fetal position all day like I really wanted to.

I know it’s a flawed test, but I think even flawed things can be good springboards for conversation and ideas. According to my Meyers-Briggs type, I’m an INFP. This means I get to live with the emotional firehose sans shut-off valve whether I like it or not. There are lots of upsides too and I’m learning to value all of it even if some days are two naps, two baths days. https://www.16personalities.com/infp-personality

When I was a teenager in Athens, Ohio, I was very fortunate to have friends whose families welcomed me into their homes and let me participate in special family occasions. One family, the Schmiedings, hosted an annual wintertime gathering for holiday cookie-baking and decorating. They invited lots of friends, particularly those with kids, and they included me. It struck me that yes the box of goodies was a great gift, but the time shared and the memories made were the best gifts. I have cherished those memories, that example, and have done my own version as an adult.

This past Sunday I had a gathering of beloved friends and family share in creating new memories. One family’s son and daughter have been enjoying this cookie-decorating tradition for many years–a son, now a sophomore in college and a daughter, a senior in high school. Even during the pandemic, I made cookie kits to drop off. Not the same as gathering, but it was a way to continue a tradition. Mary has concluded adding edible googly eyes to a star or Christmas tree brings a lot of joy and did a couple of years ago when we needed every single extra scrap of joy we could get. Each year, I witness the delight and creativity of kids young and not so young, but mostly I get to soak up the connection and laughter and put those moments in my back pocket for the days when I need them most.

I so appreciate the love and care given to an awkward teenager and how the echoes of that get to keep reverberating to others. So it is with all things…

Late autumn. Daylight Savings. Walla Walla low-hanging fog. Cold.

Every year like clockwork, it feels like the lowest, darkest, most terrible thing. And while we’re at it, there are a million and one invitations to concerts and parties and everything in between. Obligations pile up right next to the guilt. And let’s put forced cheer and the biggest holiday on the calendar.

On a lark, I checked to see if I’m like this every year and thanks to the Book of Face’s “memories” option, yep. Becci is a Scrooge-y McGrinchbum every year at this time. I’ll make some cookies this weekend and watch some munchkins pile frosting two inches high. That helps. I’ll get to spend Christmas Eve and morning with my kiddo. That helps. I will spend time with family and friends. That helps.

But I’m not going to put glitter on something that looks, feels, smells, and seems like a quagmire of doom. If you’re in the midst of great cheer, I tip my hat to you. Enjoy. For me, I’ll cheer myself up with some John McClane in Nakatomi Tower.